Destiny's Child, Greenwood's Heir
by MizJoely
Summary: Marion has left her life in Sherwood behind her, or so she believes until someone returns to bring her back to that life. Final chapter now up.
1. Prologue

Lady Marion of Leaford.

Lady Wolf's Head, wife of Robin of Loxley, lover of Robert of Huntingdon, mistress of Sherwood.

The woman leaning against the cool stone sill of the window regarded her past as much as her view of the world outside that window. Listing her various titles, some honorable, some meant as insults but worn with pride, helped her anchor herself to the present. _That is who I was in the past,_ she told herself silently. _And this is who I am now._

Sister Marion, novice in Halstead Abbey.

She'd come to Halstead to make peace with herself, to find a way out of the darkness that had nearly overwhelmed her at the thought of a second violent death to a second man she'd loved. She would stay here even in light of the discovery she'd made about herself in recent days. _Especially_ because of that discovery.

Two men she'd loved, one dead, one believed dead for a vivid, endless few moments of eternity. Both events scarring her, perhaps forever.

Was it her fault, something about her? Briefly she entertained the idea of a curse, then discarded it. Tuck would chide her for such nonsense, as would any number of her sisters at Halstead, the Abbess more than the rest. Cupid's curse was a superstition, and although she knew from experience how much more there was to the world than what was seen and felt and heard, that Heaven and Hell and places beyond the Church's absolutes existed, still, she shied at the thought of a true curse being laid upon her by some unknown and unknowable force.

A soft breeze blew the white fabric of her novices' veil so that it brushed her cheek. She ignored it as a bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Her interrupted journey to Kirklees Abbey had ended here, at Halstead, as if destiny had allowed her only a temporary detour in her journey toward taking the veil. Almost, almost she could believe her life as wife and outlaw, widow and lover, to be the stuff of dreams, of an over-colorful imagination, but her practical mind refused such refuge.

No, she'd been in the world and of it, gloriously so, and it would sully the memory of her beloved husband to deny his existence, to lessen his importance in her life. It would be equally futile to deny her life after his death, the year in exile from Sherwood, the months spent getting to know and gradually love the new Robin i' the Hood.

She'd had a nightmare about him just last night; unwillingly, her mind replayed it for her now. Her dreams had been so vivid in the last month, as if reality weren't enough for her to cope with. But this one had been worse than all the others combined, and as her mind replayed the images she shuddered beneath their impact.

_Robin, her first Robin, dead. But this time his body wasn't hidden away by the Sheriff; this time, she stood and watched in horror as he was impaled by the crossbow bolts and arrows his enemies aimed at him after she and Much escaped that cursed hilltop. She sobbed as she collapsed by his side, calling his name over and over, telling him she loved him only to be pulled away by de Rainault's ungentle hand on her arm. "He's mine now, Lady Wolf's Head," the dream-Sheriff gloated. "Not yours, never again yours."_

_Then he spun her away; when she regained her footing, she found herself in the middle of Sherwood, watching with joy as a man in a hood, bow slung over one shoulder and quiver of arrows at his hip, strode toward her. The dazzle of sunlight through the trees shadowed his face, but she knew who it was, cried his name in relief, ran toward him only to be stopped once again, this time by Little John and Much, each restraining her with one hand on each of her arms._

_The silent, hooded figure stopped in front of her, still too far for her to reach even if her hands were free, still impossible to see. "Which one?" Will Scarlet asked as he appeared next to the hooded man. "Which Robin is it?" he asked, yanking the hood down to reveal the blonde hair and blue eyes of Robert of Huntingdon, the man she'd come to love after her husband's death._

"_Which Robin do you love?" That was Nasir, materializing like a wraith on Robin's other side. He and Scarlet reached up and tugged at Robert's hair, pulling it farther and farther back until his face slid up and over the top of his head like a mummer's mask, revealing Robin of Loxley's dark hair and finely drawn features beneath, dark eyes full of a sorrow that tugged at her heart. "Which Robin do you love?"_

She'd awoken in a cold sweat, breathing hard as if she'd been running from the Sheriff's men instead of sleeping quietly in her narrow cot, heart hammering, Nasir's words still echoing through her mind even as they echoed again in the cold light of day. _"Which Robin do you love?"_

"Sister Marion?"

Marion started at the sound of a voice beside her, not the voice of her past but of her future. She turned to face the intruding figure, schooling her troubled features into an expression of gentle inquiry.

Sister Herbalist stood in the doorway, fidgeting. "You've visitors again," the older woman said with an apologetic twitch of one broad shoulder. "The Abbess asked me to tell you before I went into the meadows." A narrow leather strap hung from one gray-clad shoulder, and the pouch it was attached to lay empty and flat against her hip. She'd apparently been diverted from an afternoon of gathering herbs for healing potions to deliver the message, and Marion expressed her gratitude.

Sister Herbalist brushed away Marion's thanks, impatient to return to the task at hand. "They're in the visitor's parlor." Then she hurried away and Marion was left with a fixed smile covering her sudden inward dismay. She'd sent Robert—_Robin_—away once already; had he returned so soon to trouble her? It had scarce been two months since her arrival and his last visit. She'd made her decision, given him her reasons for leaving him; why couldn't he simply accept that decision and leave her in peace?

Not that she had achieved anything near a state of true peace, she acknowledged silently as she exited the small chapel where she'd been set to the task of polishing the simple silver candlesticks that adorned the equally simple altar. It was the visitor's chapel, rarely used but kept up as meticulously as the rest of the abbey's cloistered rooms and halls. A peaceful place at odds with her inner disquiet. No peace was possible with nightmares like the one she'd been reliving plaguing her sleeping mind.

She'd seen him dead. That it wasn't him, that it was some uncanny golem in Robert's image (Robin's_ image,_ her mind reminded her with quiet insistence, _he's Robin i' the Hood now, Herne's son and heir_) hadn't changed the fact that she'd believed with all her heart and soul that once again she faced the death of the man she loved. It had been too much, too much to bear, was still too much to bear two months after the fact, but bear it she would. And one day, the peace she yearned for would come to her; the serenity she masked herself with would finally be achieved inwardly as well as in outward aspect.

But not so long as he kept coming around, trying to convince her to leave. She couldn't; although she still longed for him (_still longed for _both_ of them_, that whispering inner voice corrected her), the terror of losing him again crystallized around her heart and gave her the strength she would need to turn him away.

Seeing his face, hearing his voice, might crack that icy sheath, break her strength and her will and urge her once again toward Sherwood. But that couldn't happen, she couldn't allow it to happen. This time, she vowed, she would convince him to stay away forever. Convince him that a return to Sherwood was out of the question, would forever be impossible, that she'd dedicated her life to God and good works, and that her passionate yearning for justice would have to be satisfied in whatever changes she could effect during her life at the abbey.

She'd worked herself into such a state of fervent determination that it took her a moment to adjust to the fact that her visitor was not, in fact, Robin of Sherwood, nor any of his followers. Indeed, when she recognized the long form unfolding itself from the low couch to rise on armor-clad feet and step toward her, she cried out, shrank away and turned to the doorway as if to run.

She was stopped short by strong, mail-clad hands grasping her by the arms, preventing her from slamming full-tilt into the soldier's body that blocked her escape. She should have expected as much, but gasped at the outrage nonetheless. "Let me go!" she demanded, kicking and struggling to free herself.

The other figure had joined them, moving at a leisurely pace, but she heard him come up behind her, heard the smothered laugh he offered. "Such passion for a woman who claims to have given her life over to the quiet contemplation of God!"

_Gisburne_. That hated voice burned in her ears and she renewed her frantic struggles. He had no right to allow anyone to lay hands on her, not here; why wasn't anyone coming to her aid? Why hadn't the Abbess turned them away, or asked Sister Herbalist to warn her about the nature of her visitors? The Abbess knew Marion's story; nothing but the absolute truth had been offered when she sought sanctuary, and she'd been welcomed as any other penitent, with nary a word as to her outlaw status being spoken between them.

And yet here she was, struggling to free herself from the grip of an armed and armored soldier while Gisburne stood and smirked in the background.

She cried out in pain as the soldier twisted her arm in an attempt to still her struggles. Instantly Gisburne was at her side, cuffing away the soldier's imprisoning hands. "Curse you, she's not to come to any harm! Let her go!"

The faceless soldier backed up a step and released her as instructed. Marion made as if to push past him only to find herself in Gisburne's grasp instead. "None of that, my lady. You're coming with us back to Nottingham."

"The Sheriff has no jurisdiction here!" she gasped out, offering him a murderous glare at odds with her clerical garb. Curls of red hair had escaped the concealing veil during her struggles with the guardsman and flung themselves into her eyes and the corners of her mouth. She ignored them as best she could, keeping her attention focused on the man in front of her.

Gisburne had removed his helmet, his corn-silk blonde hair hanging straight and lank just past his ears. He was grinning, an unpleasant expression on him under the best of circumstances. Today he wore an especially gloating smile, and it broadened as he yanked her toward him. "Did you think," he asked in a hoarse whisper, leaning down to brush his lips against her ear, "did you _truly_ think you could keep such a secret for long?"

Marion flinched away from his nearness even as she fought down a surge of panic. He _knew_. Some how, some way, he knew. He saw the fear in her eyes where only anger had previously dwelt, and his grin became a triumphant smirk. "So. You're coming with me. I'd send someone to fetch your things, only you haven't any things to fetch, so we'll be on our way directly. Oh," he stopped himself, reaching down to snatch up a heavy black veil. "You'll oblige me by wearing this until we reach our destination."

Without leave he placed the veil over her head. Sputtering with outrage Marion attempted to swat it away, but he caught her hands in his and leaned close once again. "This is happening, whether you will it or not. Pray do not make a scene in a house of God." Before she could respond to his hypocritically pious remark, Gisburne added: "Thank you, my lady." But he wasn't speaking to her, he was looking over her shoulder as he offered a respectful bow of his head. "Your information was timely, and I trust that my donation to the abbey's coffers will suffice?"

"More than suffice, Sir Guy," came the reply. Marion's blood ran cold as she recognized that voice. The Abbess stood to one side of the entrance hallway, watching with folded hands and hooded eyes as her young novitiate was hustled past her and through the front entrance. Marion turned her head, staring in shocked disbelief at the one she'd trusted to keep her secret, to keep her safe, allowed her to be removed like so much dirty laundry.

_So much for the Abbess' assurances about how safe and protected I'd be here,_ Marion thought bitterly as she was hustled past her betrayer and out through the heavy wooden doors. They closed behind her with a double "thud" she would forever associate with her memories of this unhappy moment. She'd trusted the Abbess and been coolly dispatched for a handful of gold.

Outside a half-dozen other soldiers waited, along with two saddled but riderless horses, and Marion realized with sinking heart that no one was going to stop Gisburne from taking her away.

What she would have given at that moment for Robin and his men to appear, but they were far away and safe in Sherwood, and the best she could hope for was that they rescue her from Gisburne and whatever he had planned for her when they entered the forest.


	2. Cat Out of the Bag

**Sherwood**

"She's made up her mind, Much."

The man known as Robin Hood, the former heir to the Earl of Huntingdon, turned his back on his comrade. The miller's son, however, had other ideas. He ducked under a tree branch and inserted himself once again in front of the outlaw leader. "No, she's just scared, Robin," Much insisted stubbornly. His forehead creased in anxious lines, he added: "She just needs us to come round and bring her back, that's all."

"We tried that already," Little John reminded Much patiently. "Remember? She sent us away."

"But…" Much's voice trailed off as he looked from one man to the other, and his face fell when he saw that neither of them was even _thinking_ about listening to him.

Much refused to believe it. Marion was one of them; she'd been one of them before, with Robin of Loxley and she was one of them now, with Herne's newest son in charge of them all. It didn't feel right, Marion not being there, and he said as much, frustration edging his voice with a rare sharpness before he ran off to be alone with his heartbreak and hurt feelings.

Robin made as if to stop him, then dropped his hand to his side and just watched as Much disappeared between the trees. "Do you think he's right?" he asked without turning around.

"Marion's been through as much as the rest of us an' more," Will Scarlet put in. "Losin' your love can do things to your soul." He spoke from experience, as they well knew. "It c'n cripple you when you least expect it. Goin' through it twice? I can't even imagine." There was finality in his voice when he added: "Draggin' her back here ain't the answer."

No one else spoke, and by the small group's silence Robin knew the other men agreed with Scarlet.

He wandered off to the edge of camp, feeling the need to be alone as keenly as Much, but without the luxury of being able to run away from the group. He ached with the burden of responsibility, some days worse than others, and today was as bad as it had ever felt.

_Marion._ His heart ached with the loss of her as well, with his inability to convince her to come back to them. To come back to _him_.

He wondered, not for the first time, how long her first husband's death was going to haunt her. She'd insisted she was over him, insisted that she loved the current Robin and had given up pining for Loxley, but doubts nonetheless continued to plague him throughout their tentative and sadly short-lived courtship. His predecessor had been dead a full year and more before he'd taken up the mantle of Herne's son and joined the outlaws in Sherwood. Time enough for any woman to mourn and move on, even from such an extraordinary love, or so he'd thought and convinced himself after he found himself falling in love with her.

In particularly fanciful moments he wondered if it was destiny of some kind, forcing him to love the woman who had loved the first Robin Hood. Then common sense overtook him and he scoffed at his ridiculous fears. He loved Marion because she was beautiful, fearless, intelligent and dedicated to the cause of the common man, a cause he shared with equal passion. He was drawn to her for all those reasons and more, and if it was his good fortune that she love him back, he would be a fool to question the motives behind that love.

Then he'd been found by her, dead, him and not him, and she'd been forced to relive her worst nightmare. Caught in that nightmare's web, he'd been unable to extricate her, to remind her that life was for living, that she wasn't ever one to run and hide.

Perhaps Will was right; perhaps she'd never be able to free herself from that web, never be able to rejoin them, to return to friends and more than friends. Or perhaps Much was right, and he should go after her, again and again until he wore her down and helped her free herself from her fears, helped her find once again the vibrant, fearless woman he'd met and fallen in love with.

Or perhaps she would have to free herself, without interference from him or anyone else. Suddenly determined, he turned back to the group. "I'm going to Halstead to talk to Marion one more time," he announced. "Not to beg her to come back, just to remind her she has a home here if she ever changes her mind."

John studied him with a measured gaze, then nodded, once, indicating his willingness to go along with Robin's decision, if not outright agreement. Tuck offered up a smile of encouragement while Nasir merely shrugged and Scarlet snorted his disdain. "Tis a long trek," was all Tuck said. "We'd best hunt Much up and get started."

**Nottingham Castle**

Marion paced the length of the room into which she'd been so unceremoniously thrust some hours ago. It was a tower room, high in Nottingham Castle, and she waited with some trepidation for the confrontation that was no doubt going to occur as soon as Guy returned from whatever mysterious business it was that had taken him from her side as soon as they arrived.

Not that she was looking forward to that confrontation, just as she hadn't enjoyed his company on the long ride back from Halstead. He'd spoken not a word to her the entire time, contenting himself with the occasional triumphant smirk in her direction. She in turn did her best to ignore him, keeping alert for any possibility to escape his side, to no avail. Before long—too soon in her mind—they'd arrived at the outskirts of Nottingham, having somehow managed to pass unmolested through Sherwood Forest.

She found that disturbing. They'd been riding for two days and had entered the forest at an oblique angle, on a little-used trail. The soldiers escorting them had been visibly unnerved by the towering trees surrounding them on all sides, but Guy had at least pretended well enough that he was unbothered by their situation to keep his men in line.

And nothing had happened. Not so much as a single horse had shied, no one had come after them, no rescue attempt was made, no attack on Guy's men or person. It hadn't even rained. It was as if Sherwood was as deserted and peaceful as ever the Sheriff wished it to be.

Pace, pace, stop, sit. She perched on the edge of the elaborately decorated trunk at the foot of the equally elaborate bed the room boasted, then rose again, too restless, too nervous, to remain still for very long. She'd discarded the black veiling Gisburne had thrust upon her as soon as she was left alone, dropping it to the floor in a disdainful heap. It was obvious he wanted no one to recognize her, and equally obvious he'd been successful in that endeavor.

Within minutes her uneasy pacing brought her to the nearest window, and she pushed the shutters open to gaze down at the inner courtyard of Nottingham Castle.

Horses, cows, pigs, chickens, people, all moving in a chaotic swirl that blurred before her eyes. Angrily she dashed the tears away; Gisburne and de Rainault would never catch her crying.

Curiously, she'd seen no sign of the Sheriff during her hasty journey through the castle's great room. The dais holding de Rainault's throne-like chair and the head table was empty, although the room itself was as bustling as ever. No one caught her eye or acknowledged her presence, neither soldier nor servant, and Guy's firm grip on her arm ensured her inability to make a break for it. Not that she'd get far, but given the opportunity she'd try. Mother Mary, Lord Jesu, how she'd try…

The door to the room creaked open, and Gisburne stepped inside, closing it firmly behind him. She heard the rasp of the key in the lock, from the outside, and watched warily as Guy moved toward her. "Don't," she said, her voice tight.

To her amazement, he actually stopped. Stripping his gloves from his hands, he dropped them on the near-by table and merely stood there, regarding her out of bright blue eyes so like and so unlike those of his half-brother that she felt her breath catch in her throat. "So, my lady. Here we are."

She swallowed. "Here we are," she agreed. "What's your game this time, my _lord_?" The last word was laced with heavy scorn, to mask her rising terror. She knew why he'd dragged her back. He knew her secret, although he'd made no reference to his knowledge during the long ride here. But he _knew_.

His next words proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt, beyond any hope she'd held that he was bluffing. He spoke bluntly, without preamble or softening words. "I understand that you find yourself unexpectedly with child."

She gave a defiant toss of her head in spite of her galloping heart. "You pulled me out of Halstead on a rumor?" She deliberately turned her back on him. "You should have left me there."

"No mere rumor brought me to your side, Marion," he replied deliberately using her name. Not insulting her by calling her "Lady Wolf's Head", not sarcastically employing her title, but pretending to a familiarity between them that she would never allow and that stiffened her back with outrage. "I've been kept informed as to the state of your health. You've not had your monthly flux since you fled to Halstead."

He watched her as he spoke; she could feel his eyes on her back and felt her face flush as scarlet as if she met those eyes while he spoke of such private women's matters. "Tis no business of yours," she said through stiff lips, knowing what response he would give even as she spoke.

"If you don't wish it to become the Sheriff's business, my lady," he said, striding across the room in order to take her by the arm and force her to face him, "then I would advise you to reconsider antagonizing me at this time."

"I presumed my presence here indicated that I was already the Sheriff's business," she bit out, yanking her arm free and glaring up at him.

"Yes, but he doesn't know the secret we share." Guy's voice was a whisper against her ear as he leaned down to brush his face against her cheek. She shuddered with revulsion and would have turned away, but he crowded her against the rough stone wall, leaning one arm over her shoulder and smiling that terrible gloating smile once again. "If you cooperate, then perhaps he won't learn of it, at least not in any way that might be…detrimental to your continued good health."

There it was, the threat and the bargain, both offered at once. She never would have believed him capable of such subtlety. "Cooperate how?" she asked through gritted teeth.

She should have been a soothsayer, so accurate were her predictions this day. "Marry me, Widow Loxley. Renounce your outlaw past." He leaned closer, eyes blazing. "Give Huntingdon up to me and I will make sure you and your child live the rest of your lives in luxury, lacking for nothing."

Marion felt a swell of nausea threaten to overwhelm her that had nothing to do with the child growing in her womb, however expected the words might be. She swallowed, hard, then turned her head sharply to one side, unable to bear the sight of those cold blue orbs burning into hers. "I'd rather die."

"And take the babe's life as well?" Gisburne asked.

A shrewd question, one that brought Marion up short. She had no compunction at the idea of allowing herself to die rather than give in to Gisburne's demands, but had she the right to take the life of her unborn child as well? Robin's child?

"Think about it, my lady," Gisburne said after a long, silent moment passed. But he knew he had her; the faint smile had returned to his lips as he took a step back. "You have some time to consider my rather generous offer. de Rainault is in London and not due to return for a month or longer. Time enough for you to consider your options." He spun on his heel and pounded his fist against the door.

With a click of the lock it opened, and he left without a backward glance.

His gloves, however, remained where he'd dropped them, and Marion felt a chill as she noted that telling detail. His gloves had been left behind, which indicated his intention to return.

What he intended upon that return she feared she could predict as easily as she'd predicted so much of what had transpired since her seizure at Halstead.

Her only hope was that word of her capture would somehow reach Robin's ears in time to spare her more of Guy's unwanted attention.


	3. A Wedding Is Announced

**Sherwood – One Week Later**

Marion was gone. Marion had left Halstead, destination unknown according to the Abbess, and Robin and his men had been forbidden to question any of the sisters. To "disturb" them, as the Abbess put it, her cold, patrician features as implacable and unassailable as those of any plaster saint.

Marion hadn't returned to the forest, hadn't gone to her family's Leaford estate. It was as if she'd vanished into the mists.

Robin slammed one fist into the tree he was leaning against. Where could she have gone? She had distant relatives in various parts of England and even some in Wales, but none close enough for her seek sanctuary with, none that wouldn't immediately return her to Halstead once they learned she'd fled a convent. Or worse, give her over to the Sheriff of Nottingham for the price on her head.

He shook his head in continued disbelief. That she'd done so uncharacteristic an act still raised hackles of suspicion in his heart. Marion wouldn't have simply vanished during the night, as the Abbess insisted. She wouldn't have run away unless there were a good reason for doing so, and she most assuredly would have found her way back to Sherwood if that were the case. She knew who she could trust, who she could count on, even if she kept herself apart from them to spare herself the potential of future grief.

Something had happened to her, and he was powerless to understand what. If he and his men attempted to infiltrate Halstead, to wrest the truth from the Abbess or one of her flock, he'd be putting them all in danger of the hangman's noose as surely as if he marched into Nottingham Castle and demanded that de Rainault hand over the most recent tax money he'd collected.

Bold, he'd been called, and daring, occasionally foolhardy, but not stupid. Never stupid.

With a last angry slam of his fist he pushed himself away from the tree and stalked to the edge of the clearing, arms folded tightly across his chest. She hadn't just vanished, she'd gone somewhere and with some reason. If it took him the rest of his life, he vowed, he'd discover where she'd gone and why.

Little John watched Robin through weary, blood-shot eyes. They'd combed every inch of Sherwood for any sign that Marion had passed that way recently, to no avail. Scarlet insisted that she'd run off to another abbey to make sure none of them could find her, but no one else agreed with that assertion, least of all Robin. It had been a week and they still hadn't the smallest hint of which direction to look for her.

That was all any of them needed, even Scarlet, truth be told; a hint, a crumb, something to follow that would lead them in the right direction. Otherwise they could do naught but sit on their hands as it felt they had been doing since their frustrating visit to Halstead.

The old witch of an Abbess knew something more, John felt it in his bones, but how to drag it out of her? Halstead was a true convent, not a cover for a coven of devil worshippers out to steal Albion, Robin's sword. And if it had been, Marion would have legged it back to them as soon as she found out.

Unless, of course, she found out too late and lay buried in some remote corner. That thought was too much to bear, and John turned from it, resolved never to broach the possibility. Even Scarlet hadn't brought such an idea to Robin's attention, whether he believed it possible or not.

For now, all they could do was return to their daily routines.

And wait.

**oOo**

News came to them, as it often did, borne on the legs of Edward of Wickham's son, Matthew. The boy entered Sherwood at a run and was quickly discovered by Much, who brought him to the most recent encampment the outlaws shared. It was two days later, two more days during which the Sheriff remained absent from Nottingham on his mysterious business in London, two days during which Gisburne remained locked up in Nottingham Castle on some equally mysterious business of his own, and two more days without word from Marion.

When Matthew and Much arrived, breathless from running, Robin awaited them eagerly. If Gisburne (_your brother,_ his mind whispered) was up to no good, at least it would give them something to do besides endlessly brooding on Marion's disappearance. Things had been far too quiet lately.

But when Matthew spoke, the words tumbling over each other in his eagerness to share the news, Robin's eyes went flat with disbelief. "Gisburne is getting _married_?"

Matthew nodded. "Me Da says he's posted the banns and has a priest comin' from somewhere. Rumor says he wants it done an' over before the Sheriff gets back." The boy spat reflexively as he spoke the hated title. "Thing is, no one knows who he's marrying!"

"He could hardly have posted the banns without the lady's name being mentioned," Tuck objected.

Matthew shrugged; such details were beyond his experience and interest. "People are sayin' it's got to be a lady he brought into town nigh on a week ago, wore a veil so no one could see who she was, an' none o' the guards are talking."

A ripple of shock passed through the group; all eyes turned to Robin, who stood motionless at Matthew's revelation. "Where did the lady come from?" he asked softly.

"I dunno, but they come through Sherwood well enough, while you were away," Matthew replied. "Thought you knew about it." He looked around uneasily; he'd thought he was bringing a bit of gossip or a possibility for the outlaws to do Gisburne some mischief, but he hadn't expected this sudden chill, the uneasy looks Scarlet was casting Robin's way, Nasir's frown or John's nervous gnawing at a thumbnail as he, too, stared at Robin. "Um, I'd best get back home," he said, and they let him go without another word.

When the boy had vanished into the forest, John spoke. "It can't be her," he protested, knowing he'd lost the argument before it was made. Hell, he only half-believed his own words. "Marion would never agree to such a marriage, and there's no way Gisburne could force her into it!"

"It's not like he hasn't tried before," Will pointed out, shifting uneasily at the memory of his own behavior during that particular time period. "When he tried to make that Jew girl marry him…"

"Perhaps he's found Sarah and forced her to come back," John interjected. "That would make more sense, that he hunted down a lady who'd rejected him and found a way to force her—"

"The timing is right," Robin said in a low voice. Not for a forced return of Sarah, but for the disappearance of Marion from Halstead. "He must have had her in some disguise, threatened her or blackmailed her into coming back with him and now this." He buckled on his sword sheath with a grim determination the others recognized all too well. "Either way, I have to find out. Whether it's Sarah or Marion or some other unfortunate Gisburne has hidden away, we need to know the truth. If it's someone there of their own free will," his tone indicated his doubt that such a situation was possible, "then at least we'll know."

**Nottingham Castle**

"Well, my lady? Have you made your peace with our impending nuptials?"

Marion glared up at Guy from her seat by the window. "You've given me very little choice in the matter," she bit out. He'd kept her imprisoned in this room, seeing no one but himself, not even a chambermaid or guard. She felt as if she were going mad with a combination of boredom and helplessness, grateful only for the fact that her morning bouts of nausea seemed finally to have passed. As relieved as she was at that change in her condition, it hardly made up for the fact that she'd been here for over a week and there had been no sign of rescue from Sherwood, no sign that Robin even knew she was trapped here.

She'd attempted escape on more than one occasion, to no avail. She hadn't enough length of bedclothes to make her way out the window and down the side of the castle walls. Attempts to bribe the guard stationed outside her door met with notes shoved back under the door and an obstinate silence on the other side. The one time she'd pushed her one piece of jewelry under the door, the gold cross she'd been wearing upon her capture, it had been pushed back even quicker than the notes.

She had clothes to wear (with thoughtfully-supplied extra wide seams to accommodate an expanding waistline, even if hers hadn't bothered doing much expanding so far), food, even an embroidery hoop of the kind she hadn't touched since her year in exile from Sherwood after her husband's death. Her lodgings also boasted a bible, a water pitcher and elaborate hip bath in the small cubby off the room opposite the window, and not much else to while away the time.

Short of stabbing Gisburne with the embroidery needle and overpowering the guard outside her door, she had no chance of escaping. Even worse, de Rainault was due to return within the fortnight, at least according to Gisburne. She wouldn't put it past him to lie about such a thing, but the longer she took to answer him, the more nervous he seemed. The one thing she did believe was that he wanted her safely married to him before the Sheriff returned, although she wasn't exactly sure why. After all, the baby would be born soon enough after the wedding that, no matter how much Guy blustered and bluffed, everyone would know it had been conceived well before the wedding night.

She was almost three months pregnant. Even the earliest of early babies wouldn't arrive a mere six months after the expectant parents were wed. And no one, absolutely no one, would believe the babe to belong to anyone but Robin Hood.

Marion said as much to Gisburne as he approached her, but he merely offered an insolent smile and sat next to her, uninvited and unwelcome. She made as if to rise, but he restrained her with one hand on her wrist. "Of course they'll suspect I'm not the father," he agreed. "But who's to say I never laid hands on you before our wedding night? And Huntingdon and I are alike enough in coloring that if the child doesn't favor your red hair no one could outright deny me as a possible father."

"No one will ever believe I let you touch me," she hissed, yanking fruitlessly at his hand, failing to free her wrist but unwilling to give up trying.

"Not willingly, no," he said, the insolent smile growing into a smirk. "But my reputation has sunk so low in the shire that no one would doubt my ability to take a woman by force." Perversely he seemed proud of that fact, and fact it was; Marion knew exactly how little people thought of him.

"You disgust me," she said, but Gisburne merely continued smiling at her as if he'd already won.

"That's as may be, but I still want you to marry me."

"Why?" Marion asked, surprised that she hadn't thought to ask him this before. "Use me to get to Robin, that I understand, but how will marrying me and claiming his child as yours…" Her voice trailed off as understanding dawned. "You want to raise his child as yours," she whispered. "To keep Robin away from him."

"I'll be doing the babe a favor, and you as well," Gisburne replied, the smirk disappearing as his desire for revenge showed itself to her eyes more clearly than ever before. "To be the son of a pair of outlaws is to be assured of a very short life, make no mistake there. To be the son of a nobleman is something else entirely. Your father purchased a pardon for you once; I'm confident I'll be able to manage a second one for you, but more easily if we're already wed and your condition is announced."

King John's incessant need for money was well known, as well known as the fact that Gisburne and de Rainault squirreled away as much of the tax money they wrung out of the local peasantry for themselves as they could manage. It wouldn't take more than a hefty purse to purchase her pardon, and Gisburne was right; it would be even easier should that pardon be sought by her husband, a man known to be loyal to the crown and violently opposed to outlawry. And if he publically claimed her child as his? He could be doubly trusted under those circumstances, the king would no doubt believe, to keep his unruly wife firmly under his thumb.

"You're mad," Marion declared flatly, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt. "You know Robin will hound you to the ends of the earth once he knows you have me. And he'll know the truth, that you never laid hands on me, that he's the baby's father. I'll deny you!" she cried defiantly. "I'll swear you never touched me, swear it in front of God with my hand on the bible!"

"Then I'll let de Rainault decide your fate," Gisburne said, his voice cool but eyes hot with anger. "What do you think he'll do when he has Robin Hood's whore and bastard under his roof? Do you truly think he'll allow you to live long enough to give birth to the next generation of outlaw?"

Marion froze at his words, at the truth in them. de Rainault hated Robin and all he stood for; he'd been responsible for the death of her husband and the desecration of his corpse, for denying Robin of Loxley the decency of a Christian burial. They'd never found the body, and she suspected the Sheriff had had it burned in contravention of church law.

Not that it mattered, not now. All that mattered was the life of her unborn child and the fact that Gisburne knew very well that she would never be able to sacrifice her baby's life. Still, she had a choice, and if neither of the options were palatable at least one of them offered a shred of hope. "I'll marry you," she whispered, defeated, lowering her eyes to her lap. Gisburne had released her, and her hands clasped themselves nervously together.

"You'll not deny me as father?" Gisburne pressed, confident of victory. "You'll make your vows before God and swear to honor me as your lord and husband? In _every_ way?" he stressed, making clear his desire to take her as wife in more than just name.

"Yes," she said, her voice as gray and colorless as the future she now faced. "I'll do it. Just swear you'll protect the child from de Rainault and I'll do everything you ask. Everything except betray Robin and his men," she added with a momentary flash of her usual fire. "I'll never give them up to you, no matter what threats you make. My life and," she swallowed, "that of my child aren't worth that much to me."

Gisburne could see she was determined on this, but in light of her capitulation to his other demands, he decided to be gracious. "Very well." He leaned down and grasped her chin with his hand. "Come, a kiss to seal the bargain."

Marion suffered the press of his lips on hers, made no move to stop him, but her very passivity brought an end to the embrace with an abruptness Gisburne no doubt hadn't intended. With a curse he shoved her away from him. "Play it that way until we exchange vows Sunday next," he sneered, rising to his feet. "But on our wedding night I will expect you to live up to your word and act as my wife."

Then he was gone, and Marion found herself crumpled in a tight ball, weeping as if her heart would break. Once she was married to Gisburne, her world would come to an end. The only consolation she had was that Robin's child would be safe, at least from the Sheriff. "Oh my baby," she whispered brokenly. "I'm so sorry I'm bringing you into a world of such sorrow."

**The Next Day**

They'd breached Nottingham so many times in the past it was fast becoming a game, but always one with serious, if not deadly, consequences. This time, however, they didn't risk themselves on reconnaissance, but asked Edward of Wickham to aid them. Willingly he did so, for the many times the outlaws had come to Wickham's aid in the past as well as for everything they'd tried to do to help the people of Nottingham.

It was with a troubled mind that he sought them out the day after his sojourn. "He's planning a wedding, well enough," he told them as they sat around the campfire. It was early evening and Edward intended to stay the night in Sherwood before making his way back home with the goods he'd purchased (with money provided by Robin, naturally) for his wife and son and fellow villagers. "The banns are posted, a priest has apparently been bribed or threatened into performing the ceremony in haste and without the identity of the bride being revealed. For 'security reasons', is all Gisburne'll say, but I think we know what that means."

"To keep us from interrupting the blessed day," Tuck interjected dryly. "And when exactly is the blessed day?"

"Sunday."

Sunday. Less than a full week away. Not much time. Tuck turned to face Robin. "It's got to be Marion." There was no doubt in any of their minds, not now.

The other man nodded grimly. "The only question is, why is she going along with this madness?"

"It isn't because she suddenly found room in her heart for Gisburne, that's for sure," Scarlet snorted, then took a hefty draught from his cup and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "No, he's threatening her into it. Probably with our lives," he added morosely.

"Empty threats at best," John objected. "He's not got any of us in hand, and Marion wouldn't believe him if he told her so without proof. Maybe he's promised to leave us be if she cooperates. Or perhaps it isn't a wedding at all," he added, inspired by a sudden thought. "Maybe it's just a trap to capture us."

"Of course it's a trap," Robin snapped. "Whether he intends to go through with the ceremony or not. Either way, we have to stop it from happening."

"Aye, we know that," was Scarlet's impatient reply. "The only question is when and how."

When and how indeed. While Robin pondered those very questions the rest of his outlaw troop prepared for sleep. Edward had a long day behind him and was snoring a full hour before the rest of them.

While Robin stared into the fire, Much crouched next to him. Scarlet, Nasir and John had settled into their bedrolls, trusting to their leader to figure out a solution to their current predicament. "You'll bring her back, right Robin?"

He put an arm around Much's shoulder and gave him a reassuring hug. "Of course I will." _Or die trying,_ he vowed inwardly.

Much grinned at him, unaware of Robin's private thoughts, relieved and trusting, then headed for his own night's rest.

Robin continued staring into the flames long after the others had begun their nightly chorus of snores and unconscious mumblings. He should have known Marion hadn't simply swanned off into the night of her own free will. Gisburne and the Abbess must have colluded in this, he concluded. It was the only thing that made sense. It was remotely possible the woman was guilty only of turning in a wanted outlaw to the proper authorities, but if that was the case she should have done so before accepting Marion into the fold and offering her the sanctuary of the church. He wanted nothing more than to ride back to Halstead and choke the truth out of the Norman bitch, but there wasn't time. Next Sunday either a real or false wedding would take place, and Robin had no intention of wasting a single second fretting over past betrayals when he had his hands full in the present.

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><p><em>Thank you for reading, and I'll have even more profuse thanks for anyone who reviews as well! :)<em>


	4. Wedding Crashers

Marion stared at herself in the mirror. She'd been granted a servant to help her prepare for the ceremony, a deaf old woman from Gisburne's family estate who couldn't care less who her lord was marrying as long as she was paid well for her assistance in preparing the bride.

The dress was a rich brocade that fell in heavy pleats from bustline to ankle, gold and scarlet and even a hint of black here and there among the stiff embroidery. It was also about thirty years out of style and no doubt had once belonged to Gisburne's mother.

Marion suppressed a shudder at the thought of that poor woman and her recent death. If her husband had truly been dead all those years ago, how might Guy have turned out if raised along with Robin, brothers in more than mere blood?

She dismissed the thought from her mind. What was, was, and no amount of wishful thinking could change the past, else her husband would still be alive and the Sheriff and Gisburne rotting in their own, lonely graves, unwept, unmourned and unsung.

"Such a grim visage for so happy an occasion."

Marion jumped, just a little, then squared her shoulders and turned to face Gisburne. He leaned against the doorframe, clad in his finest tunic, mail polished to a shine rarely seen in a working soldier's armor no matter how high or low his station. He'd been to the barber; his chin was smooth and his hair had been trimmed in a formal Norman bowl-cut. She supposed to other eyes he might cut a dashing figure. "You do my mother's wedding gown justice," he continued, confirming her suspicions as to the origins of her dress. "I had to guess on the measurements for alteration, but Elena did a fine enough job.

"Will I go veiled and hidden to this farce of a ceremony?" was all Marion asked as she stepped away from the mirror.

Gisburne laughed. "No, I've neither the need nor the desire to hide your identity any longer. Surely you realize I've won no matter what the outcome today?"

Marion went still at his mocking words, considering his meaning, discovering it, and flushing with dismay. "This is all a trap for Robin," she gasped, taking an involuntary step forward, hand clenching for the hilt of non-existent dagger, arms aching for the feel of bow and arrow to cut down the arrogant bastard sneering at her from across the room. "You don't really intend to marry me."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," Gisburne taunted her. "I do. Everything I told you was true; the only part I left out was that if Huntington tried to come to your rescue he would find himself trapped, captured and imprisoned, forced to watch as I claimed you for my own. Perhaps," he mused, "I might even arrange for him to witness our wedding night." He shrugged; before Marion could even come to grips with that appalling possibility, he added: "If he doesn't show, then I have the satisfaction of having you for myself, of raising his bastard as my own and knowing his own son will grow up loathing the very mention of the Hooded Man. Either way, I win."

Marion's stomach clenched with nausea at the Gisburne's words, then found herself wondering how he'd managed to hide such cunning behind a façade of buffoonery and incompetence for so long… "Who put you up to this?" she demanded, heart and mind rebelling at the thought of Gisburne as the author of such meticulous planning. He couldn't have put this together on his own, or even with de Rainault helping him as he so clearly wasn't in this case. "Who's pulling your strings, Gisburne?"

His face hardened at her accusation, and he lost his casual pose, stiffening in fury as he strode into the room and grasped her wrist, yanking her toward him and lowering his face to speak directly into hers. "No one," he ground out. "This is my own doing. You have mocked me and made a fool of me for so long, you and the rest of that band of thugs and thieves, that I have had a great deal of time to perfect my own plans against you. All that I needed was the correct timing, and you and the Sheriff cooperated beautifully in that. The last piece fell into place when the Abbess informed me of your condition, and so here we are, Lady Wolf's Head, the day of our wedding, and I tell you that I will not be denied this time. I _will_ have the last laugh."

Then he grasped her by the back of the head, yanking her forward and forcing a kiss on her unwilling lips, pressing his tongue into her mouth and ignoring her furious struggles to free herself. He legs were hampered by the heavy skirts of her wedding gown, and he ignored the blows she rained on his arm and shoulder with her free hand, crowding her against the wall and slamming his body against hers with enough force to steal the breath from her lungs.

For the first time ever Marion truly feared Gisburne. It was true; they'd come to view him more as a nuisance than a real threat, certainly when not backed by the Sheriff and a full cohort of soldiers to do his bidding. Further complicating things now was the secret shared only among Robin's outlaw band and Marion regarding Gisburne's true paternity. Robin was still conflicted about his complicated relationship with his half-brother, but Marion doubted Gisburne would harbor any such conflicts were the truth to come to light.

_We'd have done better to kill him before we found out who his father is_, she thought bitterly, as the brutal kiss came to an end. She'd tried to bite him, but he evaded her snapping teeth as he pulled away, releasing his painful grip on her hair and wrist and sneering down at her as she glared back at him defiantly, trying not to show how shaken she was by the force of his embrace. "You've never been able to stop us, not even when you killed my husband," she said, keeping her voice as steady as she could manage when all she wanted to do was scream at him. "You've never had a better chance, and you failed even then. And you'll fail this time, just as you always have."

For a moment she wondered if she'd gone too far; he seemed on the verge of striking her, possibly even killing her, then visibly regained control of himself and stepped back. "I shall see you at the altar," he ground out, then turned on his heel and left, slamming the door behind him.

"Ah, so there's to be a babe, that explains things," came the voice of Marion's temporary servant from the far corner of the room to which she'd retreated at some point. So much for the woman's supposed deafness. "Such haste in a wedding usually means the loving couple's already tasted the wedding night, makes sense now." Nodding to herself, the old woman meandered her way to the bathing chamber, no doubt to make use of the piss pot as she frequently did. Marion had completely forgotten her presence during the confrontation with Gisburne, but did nothing to try and alter the old woman's misperceptions. What would be the point?

Fighting back the urge to succumb to tears, Marion chose instead to pace and plot, desperate to keep Gisburne from capturing Robin or any of the others in the trap he'd so skillfully set. But no matter how feverishly her brain worked, she could come up with nothing short of shouting out a general warning once she'd reached the altar.

And if nothing else came to mind, if no other opportunity presented itself, she would indeed scream out a warning and pray that Robin and his men had the good sense to act on it.

**oOo**

In the end they managed it quite cleverly, showing up to the ceremony disguised as clergy. Nuns, not priests or monks, who would be immediately suspect. Whoever had shaved them had done a wonderfully close job, leaving not the faintest hint of stubble to give them away. All except John, of course, but at his height he never would have passed for any kind of a woman. His disguise was a hayrack with a false bottom to keep any poking pitchforks from finding him; the hay had tangled itself in his hair and beard and for a moment Marion could almost find it in her to laugh with delight and disbelief at the picture they presented as the others threw off their enveloping habits and wimples and drew their weapons.

The moment passed when Gisburne shouted for his men to surround her would-be rescuers. The battle was brief, vicious, and, in the end, futile; Robin lay bleeding on the ground at Marion's feet while the others barely escaped with their lives. It was only now, in the aftermath of that battle, that Marion realized Gisburne's soldiers weren't the usual conscripts and hangers-on of Nottingham, that he'd apparently imported mercenaries from somewhere to handle this particular event, and her fury at him grew until she could stand it no longer and shoved him away from where he stood, gloating over Robin's unconscious form. "This wasn't part of our bargain," she spat as she knelt on the ground, never mind the mud beneath her wedding finery. Or the blood as she tenderly raised Robin's head and laid it on her knee.

Gisburne shrugged, his gloating smile only growing larger as he watched his erstwhile bride cradling the wounded form of another man. "Does this mean you've chosen to go back on your word, Marion? That you'd rather die with your lover than live with me?"

Put that way, it was no choice at all. She'd thought herself trapped, but realized now it was her own fears that held her back, that kept her from seeing the truth that was in her heart.

"Your choice, Marion," Gisburne pressed in a low voice meant only for her ears. "Marry me and spare your child, or," he nudged Robin's unconscious form with one contemptuous foot, "throw your lot in with this scum and take your chances with the Sheriff when he returns."

Her choice. She'd had nothing but difficult choices to face lately; what was one more? As she shifted her glance between her unconscious lover and Gisburne's gloating face, she realized that, for once, it was no choice at all. She deliberately turned away from Gisburne, stroking Robin's cheek with one finger. "I choose him," she whispered, all doubts fading away. Perhaps God would punish her for not putting her child's life ahead of the man she held in her arms, but that was for Judgement Day, whether it be soon or late, and she was at peace with her decision. She would face the consequences of her actions with head high and pride intact.

Gisburne shouted for his soldiers to take them away, and Marion allowed herself to be yanked to her feet. She managed to keep one hand possessively on Robin's chest as he was hauled up between two of the castle guards and dragged to the grating in the floor that was the only entry to Nottingham's dungeon. He was dropped unceremoniously to the bottom of that noisome pit, but Marion was afforded the courtesy of a rude wooden ladder with which to make her descent.

Once she reached the floor she rushed to Robin's side, taking him tenderly in her arms and doing her best to staunch the fresh flow of blood from the reopened injury on his head, binding up the numerous cuts he'd suffered from Gisburne's slashing blade during their short but furious duel.

She tore up her linen under gown without hesitation, not bothering with the stiff brocade of her wedding dress, useless for anything so utilitarian. She half-expected Gisburne to demand its return, but apparently he had as much use for it as he now had for her.

Strangely, her strongest emotion was one of relief. Yes, she and Robin and their unborn child were in an untenable position, but the rest of their friends had escaped and were no doubt plotting even now to free them. It was only a matter of time, a race between the outlaws and de Rainault, for his return would surely mark the end of their lives.

In other words, a situation she was familiar with, and that only once had resulted in the wrong outcome. The odds were well in her favor, and she deliberately kept her thoughts focused on the inevitable rescue.

Far sooner than she'd dared to hope, Robin groaned and stirred in her embrace. She leaned down and shushed him with a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Quietly, you've been hurt. Lie still and let your body recover as best it can."

"Where're we?" he mumbled, his voice slurring slightly. He winced and put a hand to the back of his head. "Wha' happened?"

"What do you remember?" she asked, fighting down a thrill of fear at his words. If his injury were severe enough, it might have done damage to his mind as well as his skull.

"Gisburne," he said, this time speaking clearly and with a great deal of hatred. His eyes snapped open and he gazed up at her. "Why was he trying to force you to marry him?"

"What, am I not worth marrying?" Marion demanded in return, giddy with relief that he was sounding more and more like himself with every passing moment. She smiled to show she was jesting, but he frowned and pushed against the floor, levering himself to a sitting position.

She surrendered her hold on him, giving him time to adjust to their current circumstances. He knew where they were, now, she could see it on his face even in the gloom of their cell. "He's imprisoned us both; I assume that means the wedding's off?"

He was matching her gibe for gibe, another good sign. "What can I say." She sighed theatrically. "My heart was already taken by another."

There was no humor in her voice now, just the truth, plain and simple. He reached up and stroked her cheek tenderly. "I was hoping that might be the case," Robin whispered, and leaned in to kiss her.

She returned the kiss, wanting desperately to throw herself into his arms but knowing now wasn't a good time, not with him still bleeding through her attempts at bandages from various places on his arms and torso, legs and even the back of both hands. When she pulled away, however, it was only by a few inches. "Robin, this is all my fault. If I hadn't been such a wretched coward, if I'd gone back with you to Sherwood when you asked…"

He shushed her with a gentle finger to her lips. "What's done is done. We've been in this situation before, all of us, together and alone, and we'll get out of it again, as we've always done."

She smiled at the confidence in his voice, allowing herself to believe. The smile faltered as she realized that she would have to tell him the rest of the truth, before Gisburne could show up and expose her secret. She wanted more than anything to be the one to tell him, but before she could speak he groaned and leaned forward, clutching his head in his hands.

His blonde hair was matted with blood from crown to neck. "You need to rest," she urged him, offering her lap as a pillow for his head. "Sleep. You'll feel better after you've rested." The truth would have to wait a little while longer.

It was a sign of how much pain he must be suffering that he gave her no argument, merely arranged his cheek on her thigh and curled into a ball, holding her hand in his. With her free hand she carefully stroked the back of his neck and shoulders, not stopping the soothing motions until she felt him relax into sleep against her lap.

His last, sleepy words were not for her, however. "I'm just glad I thought to leave Albion behind. I shudder to think of it falling into Gisburne's hands." Then he was asleep, unaware of the extra layer of guilt he'd added to her already overloaded burden.

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><p><em>AN: Gosh, I hope everyone who is following this story is enjoying it. But I can't tell because of lack of reviews. Please let me know if it's working for you, I'd really appreciate the feedback so I know if I'm doing a good job or not. Thanks!_


	5. Optimism, Pessimism

She must have fallen asleep herself at some point during the next few hours; she came awake with a start, heart racing as she tried to remember where she was, why she was resting against a cold stone wall with filthy straw beneath her legs and a warm weight on her lap. When she did recall her whereabouts, her first thought was to check on Robin.

He was still asleep, his breathing deep and regular, and she sighed with relief as she felt his brow and found no sign of fever. With light fingers she tested the back of his head; the blood had dried and crusted and no fresh oozing had occurred, which was also a good sign. She couldn't reach all of his injuries without disturbing him and so she had to content herself with what she'd already discovered.

At some point the afternoon must have turned to evening, for the little light they received from above had changed from dim, filtered sunlight to the flickering yellow of torchlight, and very little of that. She heard the guard shifting from foot to foot, then a heavier set of footsteps moving closer and closer. "Robin," she whispered, reaching down to shake his shoulder the smallest bit. "Robin, someone's coming."

He muttered something unintelligible, then sat up so abruptly she had to stifle a startled yelp, covering her mouth with both hands.

She felt him place a kiss on the back of one hand, then take it firmly in his as he eased himself over to sit next to her, leaning gingerly against the wall. She knew he was in no condition to stand and glare defiantly up at whoever was approaching (_Gisburne, you know it's Gisburne_) but there was no way he would be caught lying down, either.

The light grew brighter as a torch was thrust close to the grate. They heard the stiff bar being pulled back, then the grate was raised.

It was no surprise to see Gisburne's face peering down at them. "The lovers reunited," he sneered.

"We need a chirurgeon and you know it," Marion shouted up to him. "That is, if you want him to live till the Sheriff returns."

"Right, you know how disappointed he'll be if you let me die before he gets back from London," Robin agreed, baring his teeth in a threatening grin.

"He'd more likely thank me for saving him the expense of a public hanging," Gisburne shot back. In spite of the bravado of his words, however, he stepped back, waiting as the ladder was lowered once again. "But don't worry, on the off chance de Rainault would prefer to lower the noose round your necks himself, I've fetched a man to look you over. Since the Sheriff has sent word that he'll be returning a sennight hence, I'll wait and let him decide your fates himself."

Marion and Robin traded troubled glances. de Rainault wasn't supposed to be back so quickly; would their men have enough time to formulate a rescue plan and get them out in a mere seven days? They would be forced to wait and see. "A sennight, a month, it makes no difference to me, Gisburne," Robin said. "We've endured your 'hospitality' before and we'll manage as we always have."

That was a threat, a promise of escape and rescue that Gisburne heard and recognized with no trouble. He grimaced but said nothing as a short, fat man in a soiled brown tunic and trews wheezed up to his side, a sack over one shoulder and a bulging skin of water or wine over the other. Without a word to Gisburne or the guards standing next to him holding crossbows pointed firmly down at the prisoners, the stranger descended the ladder and made his way to Robin's side.

Ignoring Marion, he undid the bandages she'd wrapped around Robin's many wounds, replacing them with clean white cloths after first rinsing them with wine. Robin withstood the treatment stoically, wincing only once, when the barber dabbed at the wound on his head with a wine-soaked cloth. "Stop fussing, tis only a cracked skull," he muttered. "Not sure why I've been bothered when you're bound for the hangman's noose, but still, when Gisburne's willing to let loose of a coin a man'd do well to snap it up. Who knows when that'll happen again, probably not in my lifetime."

He gabbled on like that as he finished his work but in spite of his slovenly appearance and unsympathetic words, Marion noticed that he moved deftly and with a certain gentleness. She didn't know him, didn't know where Gisburne had found him, but he seemed skilled at his work and so she kept her thoughts to herself.

He finished by peering intently into Robin's eyes, one at a time. Apparently satisfied with what he saw there, he grunted and heaved himself back to his feet. "You'll not die from these wounds unless a fever takes you," he pronounced as he threw the remainder of his supplies back into the pouch from which he'd taken them. Then he turned and clambered back up the ladder.

Gisburne's men hauled it back up after he'd stepped onto the floor and vanished from Robin and Marion's sight.

Marion had been expecting Gisburne to taunt them while the chirurgeon did his work, to heap abuse upon them, but he kept silent, and as the gate closed back over them she found out why. "I doubt the Sheriff will allow you to live long enough to require her services, but I thought I'd let you know I'd already selected a mid-wife to attend you when the time came, Marion. If you'd had the sense to marry me…ah, but you didn't. What a pity." With that the light dimmed to its previous levels and he was gone.

Marion remained frozen, unable to speak; she should have known Gisburne would do something like this; hadn't she already proven herself a veritable prophet when it came to predicting his words and actions since Halstead? "I'm sorry, I should have told you when you first woke up," she said in a small voice.

"Three months, is it?" Robin sounded…how _did_ he sound? Tired, discouraged, but not surprised, not shocked or outraged. As if the revelation was somehow inevitable. "Was that the real reason you stayed behind at Halstead?"

His words stung, but Marion could see why he'd think that. Still, she had to persuade him of the truth. "No, I didn't realize my condition until after I'd already convinced you to let me go," she replied softly. "I told the Abbess, determined to keep no secrets, and she assured me of my safety." She snorted. "Instead, she got word to Gisburne. In exchange for a donation to the Abbey, she sold me to him as coolly as a thief passing on stolen gems." Her own bitterness rivaled his.

Without a word Robin took her in his arms, holding her close as she rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes, holding in the tears that threatened to overflow. If she started crying now, she might not stop, not for a good, long time, and right now they needed to finish this discussion. She told him about Gisburne's plans, how he intended to claim the child as his, all of it, holding nothing back, then waited in silence to hear his reaction.

After a long moment, Robin spoke. "And Gisburne claims to have come up with this all on his own? I can scarce credit it."

"My reaction exactly," Marion agreed. She felt his hand grope for hers, then hold it gently, the arm encircling her shoulders tightening in an embrace that ignored the freshly bandaged injuries before easing his hold once again.

"Still, it would serve us well not to underestimate my dear half-brother in the future," Robin said in quieter tones. They were nearly alone in the cell, with only the half-mad old man mumbling to himself or his rat quietly in the farthest corner, but that secret still required keeping, at least as far as Robin was concerned. "I'd never have credited Guy with the brains to put together such a scheme on my most generous day."

Another companionable silence fell over them, broken once again by Robin. "We'll get out of this, Marion, don't you worry. And we'll find a way to keep you safe until the baby's born." A note of wonder crept into his voice. "We'll be parents together; say you'll let Tuck marry us as soon as we return to Sherwood."

"Of course I will," she promised, lifting her face for a lingering kiss. Suddenly her fears at finding "Robin's" body seemed ridiculous; all of life was a risk, and she wasn't one to shy away from things she feared.

"We'll have to think about names as well," he mused, and Marion recognized what he was doing: focusing on the future, not the unpalatable present. The future they both hoped to share. If that was optimistic, if realism dictated they admit that their only future together lay at the end of a hangman's rope, then she'd take optimism.

**Sherwood**

"Well, that could have gone better."

Scarlet turned to glare at Little John. "Really? You think so?" he asked, voice heavy with sarcasm. "What gave you that idea? Besides us totally bollixing up a simple rescue mission and losing our leader in the process."

John turned red and managed a scowl almost as impressive as the one Scarlet was currently sporting, but only turned his head toward the other members of their band. "Nasir? Tuck? Any ideas?"

"Get them back," Much muttered disconsolately. He was crouched by the largest of the trees ringing their camp, one hand bandaged and bloody and a great bruise decorating the left side of his face.

"Aye, get them back, that's the idea," Scarlet snarled, turning his fury on the hapless miller's son. "You wanna tell us how, idiot?"

"Don't call me an idiot!" Much flared, jumping to his feet and balling his fists as the other man sneered at him. "I'm just saying, that's all. We have to get them back."

"Of course we do," Tuck offered, placing a soothing hand on Much's shoulder even as he turned his most withering glare on Scarlet. "We all know that. We've done it before, we'll manage it this time, never fear."

"Yeah? How?" Scarlet demanded, not one whit put off by Tuck's stern look or by the implied threat still posed by Much's clenched fists. "The last plan was Robin's an' it failed miserably. Ain't none of us got the brains to put together a better one, an' you all know it!" He turned and stomped away, leaving the others staring after him with varied expressions of consternation, doubt, and dismay.

But not one word in disagreement with his grim assessment of the situation.

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><p><em>AN: I hope everyone who is reading is still enjoying this grim little romance. Not to worry, I'm a firm believer in happy endings for the good guys and the bad guys getting their just desserts. Please R&R if you like it!_


	6. Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

It was a plan born of desperation, one each member of the diminished band of outlaws secretly feared was doomed to disappointment and certain death for all of them. Still, it had to be attempted; none could live with himself if they didn't at least try. Of all of them, only Much had any private confidence at all, and even he had some doubts. After all, they'd failed to save the man he'd loved as a brother, and that memory burned as painfully in his heart now as it ever had. He'd come to respect and admire the new Robin Hood Herne had called to them, and he hated to think of either him or his beloved Marion dying at the end of a hangman's noose.

And if they did? Well, then it was likely he'd be joining them so he wouldn't have long to mourn their failure to rescue their friends.

Friar Tuck was kneeling before the three Christian members of the woodland band, leading them in prayer before battle. Nasir stood respectfully to one side while he waited for the others to say their "Amens", then joined them as they returned to their feet—Tuck a little slower than the others, and with a great deal of grunting and grumbling under his breath as he used his staff to support his return to the vertical.

Their reservations only grew as they neared Nottingham and the site of the hanging. The sheriff had wasted no time upon his return in announcing the capture and imminent execution of Robin Hood and his mistress, who had so publicly embarrassed and refuted Gisburne only a few days earlier. Of course was loudly proclaiming that the wedding had only ever been a ploy to capture Robin Hood, but no one believed it of him, especially not the sheriff.

No, in his opinion Gisburne had merely found himself for once at favor in fortune's eye. He refused to credit his underling and favorite whipping boy with any cunning in how he'd managed to locate Marion, force her to return and even in how he captured Robin Hood. Nor did he keep his opinion to himself, which was how Robin's own men knew how de Rainault had publicly ridiculed Gisburne when he tried to take credit for his actions. "God alone knows how you stumbled onto Marion or how your ridiculous marriage ploy worked to lure Robin in from the greenwood, but no one would ever believe you planned it to happen that way!"

His words had been gleefully repeated far and wide, and as a result Gisburne hadn't been seen in public since. He was reported to be skulking about his family home, in temporary exile, no doubt wondering how his brilliant plan had been co-opted by a man who hadn't even been there at the time.

Still, it was nothing for them to worry about; he was safely out of the way and they had only the sheriff and his men to deal with.

And deal with them they would, they'd all silently vowed. To the last man, if necessary. If none of them made it out alive but saved at least Marion and Robin, it would be a sacrifice well worth making.

**Interlude**

_He watched as the Hooded Man's loyal followers slipped unseen into the crowd, arriving one by one and at different times in order to minimize their chances of being caught. He approved; as someone who'd been raised in the study of tactics and battle strategy, it made eminent sense for them to split their admittedly small force. de Rainault had his men looking out for suspicious groups of four or more, not singletons, which had led to some amusing and not-so-amusing encounters between outraged visiting noblemen and sullen but unresisting groups of commoners, both come to witness the double hanging they'd been promised, although probably not with the same hope as to the outcome in their hearts._

_At any rate, it had certainly been interesting to spot Little John doubled over and slouched at nearly half his normal height, bearing the weight of a false hunch hidden under his cloak. He'd shaved as well, head and beard, another tactic the watcher approved. Twas far easier to spot a false beard than to recognize a man who'd removed his real one._

_Now that they were all in place, he could signal his own men when the time came. Then and only then would he know if his plan would work, or was as doomed to failure as the outlaw's own desperate ploy would ultimately turn out to be._

**Nottingham Castle, The Dungeon**

"Are you ready?"

The priest's words were brusque, unsympathetic, and Marion had the distinct impression the young Norman priest could care less if they wished to prepare their souls before facing the gallows. Still, she felt no desire to risk her immortal soul by disdaining confession this morning. Although she still held out hope for their rescue, part of her knew the chances were slimmer than usual. If they hadn't been freed by now, it was unlikely they'd escape the gallows, at least not both of them. Even if Robin's band consisted of a dozen men or more, the sheriff had taken great pains to explain how thoroughly he'd planned for every possible contingency.

With these uncomfortable thoughts, Marion slid to her knees and clasped her hands in front of her, head bowed as the priest mumbled his way through the Last Rites. He took her confession without comment or even change of expression, as if he'd heard it all before and found nothing surprising.

Of course, she confessed nothing that shocking, especially since she felt within her heart and soul that very little of her actions during her brief life required confessing. She'd done what she knew to be right; only in indulging in marital relations with a man not her husband had she felt worthy of confessing.

As soon as the priest murmured the words of absolution over her head, he rose to his feet and shouted for the ladder to be lowered. As he clambered up, she watched with a feeling of serenity she'd never have expected. Even a priest who obviously just wanted to get the sacrament over and done with had the ability to bring a sense of comfort to her soul. If she died today, she died with a clear conscience and an expectation of a heavenly reward.

She only hoped Robin felt the same way, although he'd stubbornly refused to give his confession. As the Son of Herne, she supposed it made sense; his sense of right and wrong was even more refined than her own. It was mostly for the sake of their unborn babe that she'd consented to make her own confession. She would not send their child into the next world with a double load of original sin to stains its unborn soul.

When the guard called for them to climb up after the priest, swords lowered threateningly from all sides of the small, square opening, she and Robin exchanged glances. He reached out silently and clasped her hand in his, squeezing it encouragingly. She squeezed back, nodded once, then climbed the ladder and headed for her fate.

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><p><em>AN: Only two chapters left, then the story is told. Hope you've enjoyed it._


	7. Rescue and Revelations

They'd done it. Somehow, with God's aid—and that of some mysterious group of strangers who they hoped were friends but who had melted away in the confusion in the aftermath of the rescue—they'd saved Marion and Robin from the hangman's noose.

It certainly hadn't been part of the outlaw band's plans to loose a half a herd of cattle into the bailey, scattering guards and civilians alike. Nor had it been part of the plan for all the girths on the soldier's horses to have been expertly sliced, so that the saddles slid off as soon as any equine movement faster than a slow walk was reached. But both unexpected events had certainly paid off, and none of the outlaw's were inclined to question the actions of their unknown benefactors.

Tuck had briefly explained the situation to Robin and Marion, to which their leader retorted that the two groups had certainly acted as if they had planned the rescue together! Then breath had been saved for a mad dash into the greenwood and safety, although no doubt Robin's thoughts continued to brood on the unexpected assistance his men had received in their rescue mission. If there was one thing he disliked, it was not knowing the identity of his potential allies. Unknown help meant unknown reasons for that help, and the idea that ulterior motives might be lurking was an unpleasant thought for all of them.

Once they were well away from the possibility of any of the Sheriff's men finding them, deep in the heart of the greenwood, they paused long enough to pound each other on the back, to offer respectful hugs to Marion, and to begin the process of celebrating yet another narrow rescue. They were all looking forward to hearing Marion's story in particular, since only Robin knew how Gisburne had stolen her from Halstead Abbey and forced her into almost marrying him.

As they finally reached the clearing holding their most recent encampment, they froze at the sight that greeted them, jubilation giving way to anger, fear, consternation, and fury, each according to their various natures.

A man lounged by the fire, his back to them, clad in woodsman's green, curly auburn hair glimpsed beneath his cap. "What took you so long?" he asked as he leaned forward to stir the coals with the branch he held in one hand.

As soon as their momentary shock wore off at the presence of an intruder, the group sprang into silent action. Scarlet and Little John melted off into the underbrush to check for signs of any others while Robin pulled Albion from its sheath, Tuck readied his staff, and Marion and Much raised their bows and nocked arrows with swift efficiency born of long practice.

"Who are you? How did you find this place?" Robin demanded with an edge to his voice to rival that on his blade. He waited for Scarlet's whistled "all clear" before slowly moving further into the clearing, signaling with one hand for Marion and Much to stay back.

"Herne told me how to find it," was the disconcerting answer. Finally the stranger turned around to face them, keeping both hands well within sight.

Marion gasped in sudden recognition and half-lowered her bow. "Thomas?" she asked, disbelief warring with confusion in her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Robin's confusion was even stronger. As soon as their eyes met, he felt a sudden pull, a kinship with this man he'd never seen before. And if the Lord of the Forest truly had called him… "You said Herne told you how to find us," he cut in before the other man could respond to Marion's question. "How?"

"I saw him in a dream, the Horned Man, Herne. He called me his son and told me I was needed." Thomas continued to meet Robin's eyes squarely, no hint of deception showing in his green orbs. "It was I and my men who aided in your escape," he added with a quirk of his lips. "Fortunately I didn't foul anything up."

"Aye, you did say it seemed as if we'd planned the rescue together, even though we had no idea who was helping us," Tuck reminded Robin. As if reaching a decision he lowered his staff from a defensive posture until it was suddenly nothing more innocuous than a walking-stick for a portly man rather than the wicked weapon it had appeared seconds earlier.

Marion and Robin exchanged glances. "Robin, it's the answer we've been looking for," she murmured, easing back on the bow string and allowing her hands to drop to her sides. Her expression was beseeching. "Herne always makes sure the forest has a protector, and this time he's chosen my cousin to take on the mantle of responsibility when we leave."

"Leave? Why do you want to leave?" Much asked, eyes widened in sudden concern. Beside him, Scarlet visibly stiffened, eyes narrowed into a suspicious glare while Little John and Nasir simply looked to Robin for answers.

He and Marion exchanged glances. Robin gave an almost imperceptible nod and Marion looked each member of their small band in the eyes as she made her announcement. "It isn't safe for me in the forest any longer." Her cheeks flushed suddenly, and she dropped her eyes as her hands hovered over her midsection. "Robin and I are…we're…expecting."

Before she could say anything more, the others were grinning and crowding around her to offer their congratulations, the newcomer at the fire half-forgotten in the new excitement. Tuck was demanding that she and Robin allow him to marry them immediately, his face beaming, Much was openly weeping with joy, and even stolid Nasir and sour Scarlet had smiles on their faces. Only Little John kept a weather eye on Marion's cousin, even as he pounded Robin on the back and insisted that this was the best news a man could have.

Thomas took all this in with amusement. So that was why he'd been called; the old Robin Hood had died, and this one needed to go off and raise his babe in safety. Well enough. Whatever the reason, he was ready to take on the responsibilities he'd been offered.

In the midst of the hubbub, Marion turned to offer him a fond smile. "You've grown a bit since I last saw you, Thomas, but you have your father's eyes."

Then she placed a hand on Robin's wrist, pressing down with gentle insistence until he finally lowered the sword he'd half-forgotten he was holding. "Don't you see what this means, Robert?" She used his old name deliberately, and he started as if she'd splashed him with cold water. "We can be together, safe, without worrying about Sherwood and the people here."

As if unwillingly, Robin dragged his eyes away from Thomas, still sitting quietly by the fire, looking first into Marion's eyes and then to her mid-section. "We could be together," he whispered.

It was as if the rest of them ceased to exist, Thomas noted with a feeling somewhere between amusement and incredulity. As if they held no more importance than the chirping of the birds in the trees. And it was obvious the other members of the small group felt just as bemused as he did, although to be fair, he was the only one who had any inkling of what kind of chaos his presence and announcement would have before he'd spoken.

_Herne's son._ He'd awoken from a sound sleep, from dreams of facing a man in the forest with an antlered head and staff raised in one hand, to the feeling that he was needed, to find that the dream was more than that. _You are Herne's son._ The words echoed through his mind even now. _And you _are_ needed._ Then the antlered figure had appeared in his room, raising his hand and beckoning him forward before vanishing again.

He'd stumbled out of bed and into his sturdiest clothes, lacing up his hunting boots and slipping out of the manor house as quietly as he could manage. It was well past the midnight hour, but not yet so close to dawn that even the earliest rising of the servants would be stirring. He couldn't manage a horse, not without waking the grooms who slept in the stables, but he did pilfer his father's best hunting knife from the armory. He ignored the swords, knowing somehow that he wouldn't need one. _Albion_, some unknown voice whispered in his mind. _Albion will be yours._

Albion would be his; that is, if Robin didn't sheathe it in his gut first.

He'd made it half-way down the stairs leading from the armory when his younger brother, Edmund, had made an appearance, half-frightening Thomas to death before he realized who it was. "Edmund, you startled me," he said, hoping the youngster would hear only the annoyance and not the spurt of fear his presence caused. "What are you doing up and about at this hour? Get back to bed!"

Edmund had simply stared at him, then slowly, wordlessly, shaken his head "no". When Thomas tried to bluster his way out his predicament, Edmund had pointed at his knife. "You'll need more than that, you know. To rescue Robin Hood and Cousin Marion. You'll need men, and someone here who can keep Father from finding out what you're up to."

Edmund, it turned out, had heard Thomas muttering in his sleep, and being the brightest of the four brothers, had figured out what his elder sibling was up to the moment he stumbled out of bed. Feigning sleep, he watched as Thomas clothed himself for travel and ghosted after him as he made his way through the sleeping manor house.

The rest had happened as if God's own hand was on the proceedings. The men Thomas had approached had all agreed, every last one of them, without hesitation. Edmund stayed behind to muddy the trail.

And then the rescue had happened, with no casualties on their side, and here he was, guided to this place by Herne's silent, ephemeral presence, and not a moment too soon. He certainly knew how to give a man a proper dramatic introduction.

The only question now was whether he would be leading the rest of the old guard along with the men he'd brought along, and who were even now setting up a different camp deeper in the forest. Would the others stay or leave to keep their old leader and his soon-to-be wife and child safe, or remain to carry on the fight? He certainly hoped the latter for some of them, if only to help show the news hands the ropes.

Only time would tell, but now was not the moment to ask. Now there was an impromptu wedding to prepare for. The morning would be soon enough for plans to be made.

**The Next Day**

"It still doesn't seem right, just…running away like this," Robin—no, Robert now, Robert again, no longer Robin Hood—protested, but weakly.

"It's not running," Scarlet interposed impatiently. "It's takin' a gift you've been given. You're not abandoning us, we're sending you away, is all." The question of leaving or staying had been decided without discussion; not even Much would leave with the bride and groom. He'd adapted to the life of an outlaw, and the idea of settling back into farming, as he and Little John had done for a year after the death of the man he'd always considered a brother, held no appeal.

Marion and Robin were going north, and that was all any of them needed to know or hear. The decision had been made, with Herne's blessings on them and their unborn child. They were being given the chance to be together, to raise their child in what safety they could find, and still leave Sherwood and the fight for the downtrodden in capable hands.

Robert of Huntingdon brooded on that as Marion made her final farewells. Who was he to turn his back on the future Herne had made possible when he called young Thomas to the forest? Who was he to ignore the urgings of his friends and comrades-in-arms to find what happiness he and Marion could, together, far from here?

Their child would have a future, no matter how grim. To stay here was tantamount to suicide; there was no way Marion could birth their son—or daughter, but somehow he felt it was a son—in the forest, and it would bring danger to them all to approach a village when her time neared. Gisburne knew about the babe, and by now the Sheriff had no doubt been informed. Thomas had promised to come up with a plan to keep both villains too busy to chase after the fugitive couple, and Robert believed him.

He was leaving the fight in capable hands.

Marion slipped up to his side, entwining her fingers with his, and all doubts and feelings of guilt slid away. This was right, this was his future. He smiled lovingly and pressed his lips to hers in a sweet kiss, the first of so many they would share.

**The End**

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><p><em>AN: Well, there it is, the full story. I have a rather different Robin2 & Marion story, also involving Gisburne as villain, a darker story than this one, but that's for another time. I hope everyone enjoyed this (and if you did, for Herne's sake, please leave a review! If you do, I'll give you a preview of the next story, promise!)._


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